


salt of smite

by spidersrorg



Category: Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Ending, Apocalypse, Canon - Crybaby, Canon Divergence, Demisexual Character, Disabled Character, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Other, Slow Burn, they pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidersrorg/pseuds/spidersrorg
Summary: The Smite of Judgement falls all too soon.Satan's aspirations, all ruined in a flash of light and pillars of salt.Now Akira will make them pick up the pieces of their dreams while they themself fall apart.





	1. the fall

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone im trying out a shorter chapter fic bc i have a clear goal in mind here and this plot bunny (do the kids these days still say that) wouldnt leave me alone.
> 
> this fic will be primarily crybaby-verse, but with some "blanks" filled in with OG manga plot. 
> 
> the Smite was inspired by the scene in crybaby where the demons are turned to salt, showing some intervention from Heaven taking place before the ending

Akira took stone after stone, tears running down his face, no hatred for the humans doing this, doing this to him. The atrocities they did to their own kind. 

 

Satan watched, wings spread in the sky above.

 

Why couldn’t Akira see? How wicked these humans were? How twisted? That they were destroying their own world, destroyed the world they had stolen from demons while they were asleep. 

 

Their fists clenched. Norepinephrine, the spike of blood pressure. That was anger, their frustration. A feeling Satan knew, one that was rational, with reason.

 

They wanted Akira to  _ see _ . Why did he refuse? Why did he keep trying to look past, to pretend that humankind wasn’t wicked and twisted and--

 

**_That was when the Smite of Judgement fell._ **

 

The world was nothing but light, so bright and glaring, orbs and orbs covering the entirety of the planet, where Satan was. Divine smite, the plague of Sodom and Gomorrah, returned again, to the whole world. The humans of the world, safe, but the demons…

  
And even Satan themself. How could divine smite harm an angel?

 

It was all too soon. It was without prelude, no angels descending from the sky, no bells. Satan had known they and their army would need stand against Heaven. But not that intervention would come even before their fight began.

 

But Satan did not have time to think about that.

 

It didn’t matter how smite could harm them.

 

Because then Satan was falling, a screech ripping through them, their voice reverberating far from their true angelic form. Was an angel’s scream a beautiful sound, or one of true horror? Searing pain was all they felt, burning, their wings feeling as if they were falling apart. This, this was fire and brimstone.

 

They didn’t hear it, the sounds coming from themself. All they could hear was,

 

“ _ RYO! _ ”

 

 

* * *

 

They woke with the sound of waves, quiet, the roll of the surf almost trying to lull them back to rest. Satan wished it would. Because as awareness came to them, so too did the pain.

 

Pain was nothing to them. Satan was a powerful being, that was why they had all of demonkind relying them. They’d had so much pain, millions of years. But this, this was worse than their Fall.

 

Fetal position: assumed by humans in distress, a position to protect the genitals and vitals. Angels, made from the same Image as humans. Satan curled in on themself, that delicate human position. 

 

Once their awareness became clearer, it was easier to push away the pain, to move it to the back of their mind. To think through the pain. Their thoughts, so cloudy, they needed to piece together what happened, where they were, why, what this pain was…   
  
The Smite.

 

Everything was over. They and their demons never had a chance, not when blindsided by Heaven.

 

Satan was alone, their demons all smote.

 

Somehow, the Smite harmed them as well. A being divine in body, harmed by the power they held themself. They were not smote, not a pillar of salt like all those who followed them. Even then...

 

They’d fallen from the sky. A pathetic reprise of their Fall.

 

They’d fallen and…

 

No.

 

No, they hadn’t.

 

Memories before they blacked out, only faintly there. Hearing was always the last sense to go. Their name, their human name. They heard it. Touch left before hearing, but maybe, before their… through the pain, somewhere, a pleasant touch. Their nerves sparking to the touch, the creation of dopamine.

 

_ Akira. _

 

They uncurled their body, crawled up into a sitting position, hands propping them up.

 

Ocean water surrounded them, even dampening the surface of where they lay… a small sea rock. Nothing in sight but the moon sitting on the edge of the horizon, its melancholy glow draping the water, the rock, Satan’s skin. The middle of nowhere, a banishment.

 

Akira had no reason to save them, but that human heart of his… a heart foolish enough to save them, but wise enough to exile them. Alone again.

 

The ocean spray was cool against their back, against the burning. The Smite, it was another message from Heaven. That they were the one  _ wrong,  _ not Heaven for stamping out beings that just wanted to  _ live.  _ That fought tooth and nail to survive, on this world that was beautiful. A world and beings that had grown on their own.

 

This time, this message, at least did not expect Satan to spend perpetuity in a penance that would never be forgiven, even were Satan to seek it. No, this message was the final one, it seemed. They did not know how far the smite had harmed them. They did not care to know.   __

 

Perhaps, despite this pain, they were at ease.

 

But.

 

A sound joined the lapping of the waves, one that, for some reason, set Satan more at rest than the white noise of sea and wind:   
  
“Ryo.”

 

Satan turned, immediately. They thought they’d been abandoned on that rock, but Akira was there. Next to them, sitting, watching over them while their consciousness was gone. His expression...that was one of concern, one of relief, both at once.

 

That expression changed when Satan sat up, when Akira’s eyes dropped, blatantly staring at their chest. An expression seemingly overwhelmed. Wide pupils. Ah, the beginnings of arousal. Predictable, even before Akira had become a devilman... 

 

Satan hid their amusement as Akira ripped his eyes away. Endorphins: joy, humor. Inappropriate for the moment, but perhaps the last blessing to come to them. 

 

_ Their Akira…  _

 

“Ryo…”

 

“You knew it was me,” Satan said, piling layer upon layer in the statement.  _ You knew it was me when you caught me, saved me. You knew it was me that orchestrated all of this. When you saved me, you knew this. Why did you save me? _

 

“I’ll always know you,” Akira replied.

 

A feeling that Satan couldn’t recognize: restricted blood flow to the stomach, the release of adrenaline. Fight or flight? No, a fluttering. An odd reaction.

 

They swallowed against it, that feeling. “You know what I’ve done.”

 

Akira nodded, watching them.

 

A smile, a reaction against what  _ sadness, guilt, why guilt?, guilt was human,  _ should cause, pulled on Satan’s lips. Ah,  _ bittersweet. _ “Perhaps, Ryo Asuka was not at fault for any of this. Remember him as he was, Akira.”

 

Why did they say that? That bittersweet feeling, that feeling, pulling inwards in Satan’s chest, toward the center where their heart lie.

 

“Ryo…”

 

“Ryo Asuka knew nothing. My memories...repressed. Perhaps vaguely there. But now...I am back,” they lifted their head from where they stared at the rock beneath them, looked Akira in the eye, “I am Satan.”

 

Akira didn’t respond to that, not verbally. Instead, he approached, upon them in a second.

 

Ah. That knowledge must have been the final trespass against him. 

 

Satan didn’t know why Akira saved them to begin with, except for perhaps answers. Why. Why Satan had done this. Why Ryo Asuka, his best friend, had betrayed him.

 

Satan’s eyes widened as Akira drew close, but then fell shut as Akira pinned them down to the rock, nails digging into their wings as he eyed the eight splayed beneath them.

 

He didn’t meet their face, his eyes only following their wings. Satan could not tell the look in his eyes. Pupils contracted. So neither rage nor sexual arousal. What, then? Perhaps dreading what came next. That human heart of his.

 

“I know what must be done,” they whispered, “the pathetic conductor of a failed recoup. The one who ruined everything for you.”

 

Tentatively, they reached out, circled thin fingers around Akira’s thick wrist. Without even a light pressure, without a tug, Akira let them guide his hand, a confused expression on his face.

 

They settled his hand on their throat.

 

“I must die,” Satan said, all of that adrenaline leaving them. Acceptance. Bliss. A soft smile curled on their lips, their eyes falling shut, and they took Akira’s wrist with both hands, cradling it. “If it’s you...I want it.”

 

The air was calm, just a breeze. The cool sea fog damp around them. The white noise of the sea around them. It was better than Satan deserved, a calm death. One at the hands of the man they… _ that they _ ...

 

“Please, kill me.”

 

There was nothing.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing until they felt warm drops falling on their face. Their eyes opened.

 

Akira was crying.

 

_ Why? _

 

“Ryo,” Akira choked out, “you’re crying.”

  
  
“No, I’m not.”

  
  
“You’re crying, Ryo.”

 

Satan huffed, brows furrowing. Akira took his hands from Satan’s neck, touched their scorched wings. They jolted, that pain coming back to the forefront of their mind. Akira’s hands pulled away, then settled back onto the wings, a delicate touch.

 

“You’re crying,” he said once more. Then, he looked them directly in the eyes, “but you will fix what you have done.”

  
  



	2. sky's sea

Salt pan: a geographical feature found in regions in which rain evaporates faster than it permeates the soil, leaving a coat of minerals and salts on the ground. Most often found in deserts. But now, seemingly, also found on the forested islands of Japan.

 

Akira landed onto the ground, taking them from his arms and settling them down. Gentle.

 

In this, their true form, their gaze was over Akira’s, and it felt off. Wrong. No, no. Satan adjusted their feet. They had been holding their feet like they were flying, on the tips of their toes. Footed on the ground, their sights were nearly even. Satan stood just shy of Akira’s height, shorter than him. Like when they had been Ryo.

 

They were far from Tokyo, but the city could be seen from where the two stood, somewhere in the Kanto Plain. The ground seemed to reflect the clouds, the moon. Like they were standing in the sky, together, despite Satan’s wounded wings.

 

Being with Akira, alone, somewhere just the two of them, Akira reserved for themself. No one around to steal his attention. Somewhere so beautiful, that beauty of Earth that Satan wanted to protect.

 

Satan looked at him, almost feeling a smile on their lips.  _ Serenity _ , an emotion angels were supposed to always carry with them, to exude onto others. One inappropriate for they themself to have.

The two weren’t alone, not really. Not when there were salt pillars dotting the plain around them, the corpses of what would have been Satan’s army, of those whose lives Satan had tried to save.

 

“Did you take me here to see my failure?” Satan asked, looking to Akira’s eyes.

 

Akira watched the distance, quiet. There was no answer to their question. Satan followed his gaze.

 

“Ah, Demon Lord Xenon,” they mused, “looking at only him, you can tell, humanity had no chance.”

 

Xenon’s pillar marred the horizon toward Tokyo, huge and terrible, nothing like the human-sized lumps of lesser demons dotted around them. Humidity had given his pillar shape, almost rigid enough to show his features. 

 

“...As Devilman, you could have survived.”

 

_ Oh. _

 

_ That was why. Why Ryo Asuka had made you Devilman. He wanted you to live. _   
  


“My reasons…” Satan looked away. They couldn’t return to Akira’s eye, couldn’t meet his gaze. Why? “The demons only wanted to live, when more than you can imagine wanted them gone,” why were they trying to explain themself to Akira who didn’t know the extent of all this-- “...You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“I’m not stupid, Ryo,” Akira hissed.

 

It wasn’t a matter of Akira’s intelligence, how could Satan explain? The difference between Divine and Mundane was too great. They couldn’t even start. Not when Satan themself couldn’t remember Heaven: a part of their punishment. Trying to think of Heaven brought the same burn as what they felt in their wings. 

 

“I would’ve killed them all on my own,” Akira then said, quiet, “the devilmen would have stopped them.”

 

An image ran quickly behind Satan’s eyes. A long battle. The two of them laying together under the moon, just as they stood now.

 

Satan only shook their head, a heavy feeling in their chest, “Oh, Akira. No. You would have died, everyone would have died.”

 

“I’m strong enough.”

 

Satan rested two fingers under Akira’s chin, tilted his head up to look where Xenon’s pillar stood far in the distance, colossal even with the erosion that had been wrought on his salt,  “Against him?”   
  


“Yeah.”   
  


“Even then, no one could kill me, Akira. I’m too powerful.”

 

Akira was silent.

 

Satan felt it again.  _ Serenity.  _ The smile that curled only the corners of their lips. 

 

“No...you could,” they said.

 

Their arms around him, they settled their head into the crook of his neck, “I would let you.”

 

Hot tears on their skin again. Calming. Adding to that serenity. The human reaction to making someone cry, that was  _ guilt _ . But there was none of that. There was comfort. A familiarity.

 

Familiar. Why, though, when their time as Ryo Asuka had been so short in the years they’d lived?

 

Maybe because that time had been an escape from their penance. Perhaps the Smite was a punishment for that brief escape.

 

Satan threaded their fingers, long, slender, into Akira’s hair, sighing out, eyes fluttering closed.

 

They couldn’t just return to that escape, to being Ryo Asuka, because their plan failed. That was presumptuous. Things had changed too much. Akira knew too much. He knew they were the one who did this to his world.

 

“But you didn’t kill me. Instead, you saved me,” Satan hummed against his skin, “Why? To make me pick up after what man did to itself?”

 

“Because you’re Ryo.”

 

It was a choked sound.

 

Akira’s bond to his friend, Ryo… Was it also a bond to Satan themself? Akira still cared for Ryo?

 

“...You know what I’ve done. After all of this, am I still Ryo to you?”

 

Silence.

 

Then, there was a... prodding against their thigh. 

 

“Hah, evidently not,” they said with a short laugh, “given this arousal of yours.” Akira had never shown interest in Ryo that way. Ryo had acted as human, what was it he felt?  _ Envy.  _ Why?

 

Akira tried to pull away, then. Satan could not see his face, but he imagined the expression of the young Akira, one of embarrassment. Likely it was painted on their Akira’s face.  _ Dopamine. Enjoyment. _

 

“Don’t be ashamed,” they couldn’t hide the amusement from their voice, “I know you’re quite fond of breasts.”

 

“Ryo,” that came out as a whine, a plea to stop teasing him.

 

“We’ve discussed this,” their serene smile had left, their smile now pulling their cheeks, their eyes crinkling, “you have desires, Akira.”

 

“I don’t need  _ the talk,  _ Ryo!” Akira groaned, slumping a little. Into Satan’s arms, into Satan’s embrace. It was almost better than the possibility of Akira returning the hold.

 

Laughter, laughter. Their wings seared, but this felt wonderful. 

 

“Don’t worry, Akira. You can have this body of mine.”

 

Then they were stumbling, and then they lay in the salt. It was rough on their palms as they braced the ground. Ah, Akira had shoved them off. Satan looked up at him. Confusion: a lack of understanding. Were they not having fun?

 

His face was red, a combination of the embarrassment from Satan’s playing with him and now with something else. Brows furrowed, teeth gritted. Anger.

 

“Is this body not to your taste, after all?” Satan asked. They drew their knees to their chest. A feeling they couldn’t place: depleting norepinephrine, an increase in opioid production. Both traits of sadness: but why?

 

“It’s not--” Akira started, voice raised, “You can’t just-- use sex to get at me! Fucking me isn’t gonna make me forgive you!”

 

Satan’s breath caught.

 

The sex, they had offered that just because they knew Akira wanted it. It didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to them,  _ but what about that sadness?, _ it was only an offer. No purpose other than that Akira wanted it.

 

The offer of sex meant nothing. Satan wanted nothing of it. It was something Akira desired, that he needed with the cloud of demon’s thoughts ever over his head.

 

But…

 

**_FORGIVENESS_ **

 

What was that? What forgiveness?

 

Forgiveness, for them?

 

They, whose life had been millenia of punishment to seek for a forgiveness they did not need nor want-- all for something they believed in, the  _ sin  _ that was only wanting to see life--

 

Akira would…

 

A drop of water on their knees, another, another. Running down their chin. Tears.

 

“You would forgive me?”

 

_ You’re crying, Ryo. You’re crying. You’re crying, too.  _ It rang over and over in their head.  _ You’re crying.  _ Have they ever cried?

 

Akira’s angry expression fell, and mirrored what Satan had felt before: Confusion. Ryo Asuka had never cried.

 

“Not...just because of sex,” Akira said, his voice soft, unlike the shouting he’d had moments ago, “but...I would. I’d forgive you, Ryo.”

 

Too much.

 

There was too much inside them. It welled up and escaped them-- they choked out an ugly sob.

 

Voice couldn’t be contained in their chest, it escaped with every heaving breath, every new tear down their cheek.

 

Akira came to his knees.

 

He wrapped his arms around them, and Satan wept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these r so short... i am sorry  
> look at some pics of salt pans if you have the time. especially the salar de uyuni, it's gorgeous.


	3. place once stood

It was an odd juxtaposition, a sort of cognitive dissonance, an angel standing in the middle of a penthouse apartment.

 

Until nary days before, that apartment had belonged to them. By all means, it still did. It was just...odd, standing there.

 

Perhaps it was just odd to be standing at all. Their goals all in ruin, but standing where they stood as a man.

 

“Well?” Akira said to them, walking past and flopping on the couch, “get dressed so we can go.”   
  
“...Right,” Satan replied. Clothes. Those were needed in human society. Not that Akira seemed to mind angelic nudity, with how he had to keep forcing himself to look away. 

 

Akira’s goals were what mattered, now. Putting pieces together by vague terms of ‘fixing things’ that Satan had done. Ryo Asuka had been an authority on demons, and the world would likely listen to him, perhaps calm a little. Ryo would have to speak to them, a news broadcast, just like the one that had spurred all of this in motion. The one in which Satan tried to make Akira see the cruelty in the hearts of men.

 

Now, Ryo Asuka would ‘understand’ the demons more than before, of course. All memories returned. But how would they dumb it down to the level of humans. Akira, perhaps soon they could explain to only him. But he would  _ try  _ to understand, with that heart of his. Satan hoped he would. But the whole of mankind-- they would only panic more, with information.

 

And to think, Ryo Asuka had thought he was trying to help humanity. The broadcasts. His goals with Akira.

 

How fast things had changed.

 

Satan took a breath and curled their wings in on themself. Their true form would make clothing difficult, not to mention Akira’s plan. They would have to reassume the form of Ryo Asuka.

 

That was doable.

 

Doable, except, once they emerged as human, their ankles collapsed.

 

That burning, again, that pain they had managed to ignore in their wings, it was back. This form less capable of handling it. But where was it? It felt everywhere. Their back, their ankles, their skull.

 

Their hands clawed at their hair. There, there was some of it, some of the pain. In that flesh.

 

Another voice seemed to join them in the apartment, wasn’t it only they and Akira?-- “Akira! Help him!” Then Akira was on them, holding them, and things felt alright for a moment.

 

How did Akira know to come to them? They had their eyes screwed shut, they were sprawled on the ground away from him...

 

...Ah. They were screaming. Just like when they had fallen.

 

That was why.

 

Then Akira was gone again, and Satan was still screaming. The pain of their ankles, the pain of their back, that was now easier to ignore. But there was something making that pain of their skull worse, the skin feeling searing--

 

Akira was back. Things were okay again. Satan shifted, laying their head upon Akira’s lap. Akira’s hand in their hair. They hurt, but things were alright.

 

An odd sound, not a voice. A humming, a buzzing. 

 

They opened their eyes, and a lock of gold fell before their eyes.

 

Ah, Akira. He could be their Delilah, for they would do anything for him. They let their eyes fall shut once more. He could strip their strength, and they would not care. She had shorn Samson’s hair as he rested, the fool blind with his love--

 

Akira was all Satan had left.

 

“Shit,” Akira’s voice.

 

“What happened to him?!” that other voice that had been there, closer to them now. High, feminine. Satan didn’t bother opening their eyes to look. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

 

Satan rolled over, buried their face into Akira’s stomach. Whined his name.

 

“Asuka-san,” that feminine voice again, a hand on their shoulder.

 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” they shouted, shooting upward, smacking her hand away, the reaction surprising even they themself. Their breath came heavy, and they curled their hands into Akira’s shirt, as if that were to grasp their bearings.

 

That girl was before them, that Makimura girl that Akira was found of. It didn’t make sense, that Ryo Asuka’s body would experience human emotions now that Satan had awareness. But there was a confounding feeling:  _ envy.  _

The girl backed away, then handed the little plastic kit over to Akira. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes wide. Worry. What, for Ryo? “Your head is all burned.”

 

“It was under his hair, somehow” Akira muttered, and Satan let him handle them, moving their body in his lap.

 

“It’s on his back, too,” the girl said, “and his legs… what happened to him? You went looking for him, right?”

 

Satan felt Akira’s body move with a shrug. Ah, he was going to keep their identity quiet, perhaps.

 

Cold cream on their scalp, gauze taped on.

 

“We don’t have enough for the rest of him…” the girl approached again, and Satan opened their eyes only to glare.

 

“...We’ll get more on our way out,” Akira then said, “he has things to do.”

 

Satan let out a short laugh into Akira’s chest.

 

“He has a hospital yukata in his closet,” Akira told her, “that should be fine on his back, right?”

 

An odd pang of joy in their chest that Akira remembered such a thing. A relic of the night together when all of this began, the Sabbath.

 

“You’re taking him out like this?!” Makimura glowered at him.

 

“I have to,” Satan said in an even tone. They had to for Akira.

 

The girl seemed to resign on that note, huffing and running off to Ryo’s room. She returned with the white cotton garment, and handed it over to Akira to help him dress. They would let Akira care for them forever.

 

And he did, helping them into the sleeves, tying the obi. Makimura shied away once Akira began to dress him. Satan was, after all, naked in the body of Ryo Asuka. She likely did not want to see any genitals.

 

“My crutches, from the Sabbath,” Satan started, “they should still be in there--”

 

“You can’t walk!” Akira barked, “look at your legs!”

 

So Satan did.

In their true form, wings sprouted from their ankles, two of twelve to aid their flight. But after the Smite, their wings had been burnt. And it seemed that it transferred over to the form of Ryo Asuka.

 

There were burns that were seemingly deep in their ankles, and licked out down their feet and just up their calves. No wonder they had collapsed.

 

“...Let me see the rest of myself,” they then said. Vanity, or curiosity?

 

Akira picked them up. Of course, that was his solution. Ever chivalrous.

 

Vanity, that was the reason that Satan came upon once Akira walked over to the wall-length mirror. Why else would they have chosen to place such a thing in their-- no, Ryo Asuka’s-- dwelling.

 

They could only see small wisps of the burns of their back, coming up over their trapezius. But their scalp…

 

The burns were in the shape of wings. A cruel joke.

 

On top of that…

 

“Never become a barber,” they snorted, and raised a hand to their hair. They combed their fingers through the sad, patchy remains. Ryo had only gone to high end salons, even for a touch-up. A disaster like this was unthinkable.

 

Akira had liked Ryo’s hair. Had rubbed the tiny hairs on the back of his scalp every time he’d had it freshly shaved. Ryo had liked that.

 

Akira’s fingers now came to their scalp as he shifted them in his hold. He ran them over the uninjured skin. Satan leaned into the touch.

 

“Hey,” Akira whined, “I only had your fancy razor to do it.”

 

“I bought that razor for you,” and Satan chuckled, “for that facial hair you got. It was a thousand dollars, top of the line.”

 

“I couldn’t figure it out! And I caught you using it to shave your legs!”

 

“That was still for you.”

 

Satan watched Akira’s expression change in the mirror, and they laughed, “What?”

 

“What?” Akira echoed.

 

“Do we not need to go, Akira?”

 

“Oh, right. Yeah,” Akira’s face had grown a little red.   
  
“If you’re truly stopping for more gauze for me along the way, I’ll buy you some food,” Satan hummed and settled their head onto Akira’s collarbone, “but I feel it may be ill-advised.”

 

“Fuck it! I’m hungry,” Akira harrumphed, and all but stomped them out of the apartment.   
  
Satan smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP ryo's undercut.
> 
> if u noticed, i added to the chapter count! the positive response this fic has gotten encouraged me to expand on the story :') thank you everyone for your kind comments and kudos!


	4. voice

Somehow, the convenience store was pristine despite the fact that pandemonium had been running on outside for weeks.

 

The store clerk groaned a little when Akira walked through the doors, Satan in his arms. She waved her hand, going back to her magazine, and said, “Rob whatever you want. Geez, don’t even get days off for the apocalypse…”

 

Despite the offer, Akira had decency, and Satan had a pocketful of cash. So Satan just cradled their shopping basket as Akira threw one snack packet after another into it-- after raiding the first aid section. Upon getting a glimpse of it, Satan had tried to stop him. The only adhesive bandages left were covered in children’s cartoons…but Akira listened to no protest.

 

Satan set the basket down on the counter and the clerk hardly looked up.

 

Retail.

 

“Will that be it,” her bored voice rang in monotone.

 

Satan’s eye happened to drift to the side at just that moment. Internally, they cringed, but... “Akira, take that.”   
  
“Take what?”

 

“The rain hat.”

 

“But it’s not even cloudy outside…?”

 

“Akira, if you think I’m going on television with this haircut…”

 

The clerk cut in: “It’s really fucking bad.”   
  
“ _ I know it is, _ ” Satan hissed, “they’ll make me into a meme, Akira.”

 

Akira, of course: “...What’s a meme?”

 

They rubbed their face, “Have you used the internet once in your life for anything besides pornography?”   
  
“Eheh…” Akira glanced to the side and tossed the hat onto the counter. A noticeable red on his cheeks. That did something to Satan.

 

But what really did something, was putting that hideous yellow plastic hat on their head. If only Akira would wait for them to order something more acceptable. With this hair disaster, they would even wear something  _ Coach _ …

“We don’t have change,” the clerk said, then, not even attempting to be surreptitious, shoved the wad of cash Akira gave her into her own pocket. “Geez, all these robberies…” and she shrugged.

 

Satan didn’t give a shit, “Let’s go, Akira.”

 

* * *

  
  


The news studio was still set up as it had been when Satan had given their last address before the Smite.

 

The one where they had painted a target on Akira’s back.

 

They licked their lips.

 

Hesitation.

 

All they had wanted was for Akira to come to his senses. To see humans’ true nature.

 

That goal of theirs had been quashed with all others. It had failed from the start, with what Satan had seen before they fell. Before Akira saved them. How he took each stone with tears.

 

“Set me here,” Satan said, their voice coming out oddly soft. 

 

An ache in their chest.

 

Ah.

 

_ Guilt. _

 

“‘Kay,” Akira said and did just that, all too gentle, nothing like when he had just tossed Ryo into the pool--

 

“I’ll instruct you on using the equipment,” they said, not having a camera crew of demons to run things this time. Only their poor tech-deficient Devilman…

 

Akira nodded, then walked away. Satan expected him to walk to the cameras, but instead he came back over with the convenience store bag, the first aid supplies. 

 

“Don’t you want to do this first…?” Satan asked. Akira had felt very much rushed to get this done once Satan had volunteered the idea. Despite his orders for Satan to ‘fix’ things, he didn’t seem to have plans for how.

 

“No, we gotta patch you up,” Akira poured the bag out onto the table and started picking through things. “Then you can heal faster.”

 

“I doubt twenty minutes will do much--”   
  


Then Akira was tugging off their yukata and squirting a lotion so fucking cold onto their back that they  _ yipped. _

 

Akira had the audacity to laugh.

 

Satan drew their mouth into a line and didn’t speak as Akira dressed their burns.

 

He was too gentle. It hurt, having their injuries touched, but Akira was delicate in his hands. It wasn’t the rough treatment that would be understandable against someone who had betrayed him--

 

Guilt, guilt, guilt. That was an emotion that Satan had shoved off of themself from the beginning of time, one that they were expected to feel but they refused. They would not feel guilt for their Fall.

 

But for Akira, they could have guilt.

 

Akira, soft in his touch.

 

Their eyes fell closed and they leaned into him, focusing on his breath, his closeness.

 

The pat on their shoulder and the, “There, done,” came too soon. They had calmed so much, nearly fallen asleep…

 

Back to the world, a rude awakening.

 

“...Alright,” they said and tugged the yukata back on. Akira tried to adjust it. They let him. “Now, for the equipment…”

 

Some technology coaching later, and Satan was on the air, being broadcast far and wide.

 

They managed that smile that Ryo always carried on television through their greeting.  _ Hello, this broadcast will be in English and then done again in Japanese, but actually I’m stalling because I don’t know how to dumb this down for you. _

 

“...A successful weapon against demons,” Satan settled on, “was discovered and immediately deployed.” They couldn’t very well explain Heaven’s wrath to a population of whom some did not believe in demons even after they were witness to their rampage, “and there are no more demons remaining. All threat is gone.”

 

“Humans were safe in this event,” they continued, “as well as devilmen.”

 

They paused for a moment. The last time they had spoken here, they had named devilmen as humans’ enemies.

 

“...In my new research,” they licked their lips, “I have seen that devilmen are consciously human, and hold human hearts,” all of this, they knew this from the beginning, “and only formed when a demon attempted to possess someone pure of heart.”

 

They explained how devilmen were not a threat, how their research had changed-- And more pseudoscience that no one would question. Who had the doctorate, who was the ‘founder’ of this branch of science?

 

“Heart and body...,” they propped their head on their hand, then smirked, “devilmen are just better people than you.”

 

They gestured to Akira to shut off the camera.

 

The smug sign-off was a bit ruined. Akira seemingly forgot how to turn off the camera-- or Satan just didn’t think that far ahead to explain it. No matter which, it ended with Akira’s fingers on the camera lens and Satan trying to coach him to cut off the broadcast-- but it was done. The broadcast was cut.

 

The first step of Akira’s desire for them to ‘fix things’.

 

“Let’s go home,” Akira said, exasperated, tired from the nonsense of the setup. He scooped Satan up without any form of adieu-- and Satan had to withhold a gasp at that. “Oh, sorry! Did I hurt you--”

 

“No, no,” they responded, and wrapped their arms around his neck. Akira was strong, of course. Satan’s loose hold on his shoulders even showed how hard the muscle was. Not to mention the arms that cradled them. 

  
...‘Home’, did Akira say? That was...a very human concept, was it not? Akira’s home was the Makimuras’. Miki Makimura was in Ryo’s apartment. Ryo’s former abode,  _ home. _

 

What did Akira mean by that? A home, with they?

 

“Fly us there, Akira,” Satan said, and buried their face into Akira’s neck, “we can’t very well Uber there, and I’m tired.” That was a truth. But not really their motive. Their wings were burnt. They couldn’t fly themself. Not until they healed.

 

Being in the sky with Akira was a privacy with him that they craved. The world far away, only they two. Akira’s focus on them.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Akira picked up the convenience store bag on the table. Oh, had they done the broadcast with that there…? “You probably need to rest, with all of that…” and he was walking out of the room, up the stairs to the roof.

 

“This body isn’t suited to deal with such damage,” Satan said, “it’s more painful than in my true form. But I suppose it had to translate somehow.”

 

Akira stopped walking.

 

The two were on the roof, the remaining lights of Tokyo blinking around them, the air still. A little higher up and they could be past pollution, could see the stars. Once Akira flew them.

 

A breath dusted Satan’s hair, and they pulled off from Akira’s neck to look up at him.

 

He looked them in the eye.

 

“What are you?”

 

“I am Satan.” They had already told him. What more did he want?

 

Akira was silent, his gaze continued.

 

Satan let out a small laugh-- “You probably wouldn’t believe me.”

 

“All of this was hard to believe,” Akira sighed out, “when you told me everything, I considered calling the insane asylum.”

 

“Those don’t exist anymore.”

 

“You get what I mean! Don’t derail this!”

 

Satan was silent for a moment.   
  
“I am an angel.”

 

Akira’s fingers tightened on them, digging into their skin, the fragile human body they inhabited--

 

“An angel. After all you did?”

 

There was the anger that they deserved, that they were waiting to see from him. Where had it been?

 

“You wouldn’t understand, Akira--”

 

“No! Fucking try me,” he shouted and hissed all at once-- his hands surely bruising--

 

“The demons,” Satan tried to meter their words, but there was that guilt again, no, they wouldn’t feel guilt for this!, “they didn’t ask to be made, but they wanted to live! Demons were pure creatures, fighting tooth and claw just to survive. Heaven hated them, wanted them gone, wanted Earth to be kept for the humans… Humans, that are so cruel to their kind and hide their face. I wanted you to see that, Akira!”

 

“I was banished. I Fell, and Heaven wanted me to fall again.”

 

“But you saved me,” they ended.

 

Their throat felt tight, their hands numb-- their cheeks wet. They shouldn’t cry.

 

Akira was still watching them carefully, his expression still angry, but he was always weak to people hurt, to tears, maybe he would be gentle, Satan longed for that-- “You tried to do to humans what your Heaven wanted for demons. Hypocrite.”

 

“...I see that now,” they concluded, a smile on their lips, what reaction was that?, “but it doesn’t matter. Heaven got what it wanted. Humans are the only ones left.”

 

“It does matter,” Akira replied, the venom finally draining from his voice, “people are dead, Ryo.”

 

“They are,” is all they said.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i'm having such a good time with this fic honestly, i hope you are too.
> 
> ALSO: SOME BEAUTIFUL ART OF CHAPTER 2 BY PSIDONTKNOW https://twitter.com/PSIDontKnow/status/960378731352281088 THANK YOU SO MUCH


	5. ripple effect

If Satan cared, the air of the room would likely be stifling. Awkward.

 

But they did not. Even as Ryo, that was something trivial. Who had time for that?

 

Instead, they tapped away at their MacBook and let shifting glances pass around the room. Uncomfortable squirming on the couches of their living room.

 

While they didn’t like sharing their and Akira’s space, Akira had invited this lot to their apartment, it seemed. Sometime when they were unconscious from the fall. They didn’t know how long that had been. Days, it seemed. How long had Akira watched over their body?

 

They still didn’t understand why.  _ Because you’re Ryo. _

 

But Akira’s blessing for the party to come here, Satan wouldn’t argue. They were still reeling from their argument on the rooftop hours ago.

 

It put a tremble in their fingers.

 

The Makimura girl was the first to speak, breaking the still air, “So…”

 

Satan looked up at her. They knew she had been in their apartment before they had left for the news station, but had been too consumed to think about that further. To even give a shit, when Akira was caring for them--

 

Makimura was pressed against another girl. That girl’s arm wrapped around her.  _ Interesting. _

 

“So, what?” Satan asked, then went back to their laptop, “Is there something that needs discussing? You’re in my home for some reason. I do not care.”

 

“O-our house burned down!” she yelled it, “not just ‘some reason’!”

 

Satan went to shrug, but then thought of Akira-- he would be angered by such a reaction, likely. He wasn’t in the room, but she could report to him. The girl was important to him. They had to be more delicate.

 

Her shoulders shrank and continued to speak, “Everyone stopped after that light...everyone seemed to sober up. But, what people did...you know. It kept going.”

 

“Man...Hie, Babo..” Another voice muttered, male. A sad tone.

 

They looked up again, to actually survey the room.

 

The other girl was holding her close, protective. Ah, another devilman.  _ Possessive. _

 

Makimura was no longer a threat, it seemed.  _ A threat?  _ But what was this  _ envy? _

 

_ Akira to possess you like that. _

 

A cat curled on the couch next to those girls, going to shed black fur all over the white decor.

 

Then two boys. Men? Somewhere along that line. One of them spoke. Were the two even Akira’s friends? Satan didn’t recognize them.

 

But one of the boys’ eyes widened, the one with the hat, and he leaned in toward the one with braids, and failed to whisper, “Isn’t that the dude who shot up the fuckin’ dock?”

 

Oh, right. That group. They had been less than inconsequential at the time. That was their reunion with Akira.

 

_ Why had they ever left him. _

 

“Akira is welcome to stay with me,” they said, “and he’s extended the invitation to you as well. Who am I to disagree with him? And your ragtag bunch, I suppose,” they tried not to roll their eyes, _ “ _ It can’t be expected for a group of highschoolers to manage on their own, after all of this,” Satan hummed it, “you may stay until I find you lodging. I will take care of your rent and expenses, of course.”

 

Akira walked in at that point, and flopped down next to Satan. A pile of food with him. He scattered it across the coffee table to share.

 

He was so close. Pressed right against their body, despite the length of the couch. His legs splayed wide and taking up space, a show of dominance that he likely did not know he was displaying. A tinge of...glee, pinged in Satan’s head.

 

“It’s the least I can do, of course,” they said.  _ Look, Akira. I’m putting up with them for you. _

 

“Damn! Can we get one with a pool like yours?” Akira asked.

 

“You stay here,” Satan said, suddenly that glee gone.

 

Akira looked at them, blank.

 

“We have a mission,” they made up the reason, “it would be most effective for you to be in close proximity to me.”

 

“O...kay,” Akira shrugged.

 

Back to their laptop. They pulled up the first video of their speech that they saw on Twitter, then opened a note tab to mark down what additions they would need the next time they spoke in public. To mark down the direction their lies took.

 

They looked up at the room again, then plugged in headphones. This was for them, they didn’t need those people listening in-- But Akira. They handed him an earbud.

 

“Watch with me?”

 

Akira nodded. Why did that pulse in their chest?

 

The video played and Satan was already rapid-fire typing. They caught their reflection in the glare of the screen. It almost looked like the wounds on their scalp weren’t completely covered. They glanced to their face in the video. They weren’t showing there. Maybe it was the lighting.

 

Then the video abruptly stopped--

 

Ryo’s face on a comically small body, with that hideous yellow hat that they were still wearing, a piece of toast drawn over their mouth, dancing around, with flashing words: WHEN YOU HAVE 5 PHDS BUT YOU’RE LATE TO PRESCHOOL

 

“ _ WHAT THE FUCK! _ ” Satan slammed their laptop shut and all but smashed it onto the coffee table-- the glass of the top starting a spiderweb crack. A surge of catecholamines, the rousing of the amygdala. 

 

“What was that…?” Akira asked, wide eyed.

 

“ _ THEY MADE ME A MEME. _ ”

 

The Makimura girl immediately whipped out her phone and started laughing. The cat jumped up and ran.

 

“YOU!” Satan hissed and tossed a glare at her, “I have a gun, and I won’t hesitate, bitch.”

 

The girl just started laughing harder at that-- 

 

“What’s so fucking funny!”   
  


“Th-that’s. That’s another meme…!” she choked it out, arms crossed over her stomach as she keeled over in her chair.

 

“I’m done,” they said, and tried to stand up to storm out of the room.

 

But their  _ fucking ankles. _

 

Those gave out under their body. They threw out an arm to catch themself, and grabbed the coffee table as they went down.

 

The glass shattered under their hand.  _ The triggering of the nociceptors, Type-1 Alpha-Delta. The production of adenosine triphosphate.  _ Pain.

 

“Shit, shit,” they hissed, and everyone in the room seemed to stand at once-- “ _ GET OUT _ ,” they screamed, “All of you! Akira, stay. Please, stay.”

 

It seemed they were listened to, at least. Akira had them in his arms, those supplies he’d gotten from the earlier trip to the convenience store already gathered. His pupils were wide-- likely the demon in him reacting to the scent of blood. But their Akira held it at bay, their soft Akira--  _ Opiate production. _

 

Shit, there was a lot of blood. All of this from just glass shards in their hand? This body was so fragile. It couldn’t take the burns, couldn’t take even a minor injury like this. Their yukata was spotted with red drops. Red, red. Wrong.

 

“Shit, that’s a lot of blood,” Akira spoke exactly what Satan was thinking.

 

Satan snorted, “Really, now.”

 

“We gotta clean that up,” he said.

 

“I’ll have Jenny take care of the mess,” Satan started. But, “Oh. Jenny is dead.”

 

Akira looked at them oddly, that look he could  _ feel someone’s heart hurt _ . That empathy of his. They didn’t care, no. Perhaps it was pain for Jenny?

 

“She was a demon,” Satan said to appease him.

 

His face didn’t change, still that sad expression. Not Jenny? Then, they themself after all.

 

They were still bleeding. Perhaps that was why.

 

Akira picked them up, “I meant clean up your hand. Clean off the blood. At the sink?”

 

“No, why don’t you just lick it off,” they snarked. Ah, to banter with Akira, they wanted that. Perhaps they were a bit harsh at the moment, with Akira caring for them.

 

“Well, I want to,” Akira mumbled, “but that’s fucking weird. It’s Amon.”

 

“Hah!” Satan leaned into him, held up their hand, “go ahead.”

 

“No,” Akira shook his head, and carried them to the kitchen, set them on the counter, took their hand and ran it under the sink.

 

They were almost disappointed. As if it were a rejection of they themself.

 

Satan was silent. Akira wrapped their hand up to the point where they could not spread their fingers. Likely overkill, but Satan cherished it. Held the hand to their chest.

 

“Akira…” they sighed.

 

“Huh?” he asked.

 

Really, they had just wanted to say his name. “Take me to bed, then you can let your friends back in.”

 

They wanted to be alone with Akira. But that was what Akira wanted.

 

What Akira wanted was all that was important anymore.

 

“Whoah, whoah, no,” Akira shook his head, “you’re way too hurt for that. And you’re…”

 

“What?” Satan narrowed their eyes, cocked their head. Confusion. They did not understand Akira’s point, but, their curiosity, the pang in their chest, called for them to press, “I’m what?”

 

“You’re...I don’t know. It’s weird,” Akira said, looking away.

 

“And that has what to do with my level of exhaustion? Is it now ill-advised to put someone injured on bedrest? Then human healthcare has been wrong for the entirety of its history.”

 

“ _ OH _ ,” Akira gasped out, “I thought you meant-- whoah, okay. Nevermind. Sorry. That’s. Amon. Hah.”

 

Satan smirked, then. Pressed their nose to Akira’s neck, “Oh. That was what you thought,” they chuckled, “I did say you could have what you want.”

 

“...Stop offering me that,” Akira replied, tone dark, “it won’t change anything for you.”

 

“No, it won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is sort of a where-are-they-now chapter i guess lol


	6. reminiscent

Sleep was their respite, the time they could spread their wings. When they were free of their human form’s overreactive nociceptors, the pain that shot through them. Free to stand on their own feet.

 

Outside the confines of Ryo’s bedroom, they needed his form. So that Akira’s friends, so that the rest of the world would not know. They and Akira had agreed, despite Akira’s desire for truth. 

 

They would be truthful to him, only. Only him. They thought, perhaps, it could be the way to Akira’s forgiveness.

 

Satan settled into their wheelchair, took Ryo’s form. They cringed each time they did, that pain returning. Shooting through them all at once before returning to a searing more or less in the background.

 

Appearance after appearance, talk after talk. Days, weeks. 

 

There was at least an assortment of hats in their wardrobe now. Designer. No more of the yellow rain hat that made them look like a preschooler. Something to cover how Akira needed to shave their scalp to bandage their wounds. How it seemed like more hair was shorn each time.

 

They checked their phone. No meetings today, no appearances. Thank fuck. This shit was terrible without a secretary.

 

Maybe they could convince that Makimura girl. She was fairly trustworthy, and they were going to be stuck with her around as long as Akira was there. And they were not leaving Akira ever again. Never letting him go. No, they would chase him through Hell if they needed.

 

They wheeled to the living room with their new MacBook and transferred over onto the couch, setting the computer down on the new white oak coffee table. A Twitter day it was. Answering questions, snarking about flames.

 

Akira stumbled into the room, half-awake. Dopamine, a surge of dopamine. Satan was growing accustomed to that, how often it happened around Akira. No longer perplexing.

 

He gave Satan a lazy wave and a tired groan as he walked toward the kitchen. Midway, he stopped- “Ryo, did you eat yet?”

 

“No,” Satan replied. Not a priority.

 

“Ryo, you can’t do that,” he said, and finished his path to the kitchen. The sound of metal pans followed, the sounds of cooking.

Makimura had been coming over from her downstairs apartment to make Akira’s breakfast in the morning, since she was concerned about him being incompetent in caring for himself. Especially since Ryo didn’t know how to cook either. Things were a pain without Jenny. 

 

He returned with what seemed like stacks of plates, practically a five-course meal. Satan smiled a small smile. Didn’t Akira mention something like the girls at his school being attracted to that? They themself did find it endearing.

 

“Do I need to restock the fridge?” they asked, turning to their MacBook to open a grocery service.

 

Then, they were prodded in the face. They glanced to Akira. He was poking them in the cheek with a spoon.

 

“Eat your omurice,” he said. The prodding continued. Ah, egg and rice, on the spoon. They turned to face him, opened their mouth to speak, and Akira had it in their mouth.

 

“Mmph,” was their undignified answer. This was a familiar scene. They chewed, then glanced down. Ah, he’d set a plate in front of them. His cooking skills weren’t great, the egg a little burnt. But…

 

His own plates were piled with stacks of cold cuts, no cooking involved at all. He had only cooked Satan’s. And even tried to draw a little smiley face with ketchup.

 

Dopamine, dopamine.

 

“Thank you,” they responded. Was their face warm…?

 

“Ugh, Ryo,” Akira said, as he scarfed down is food. He was nearly done where Satan had scarcely two bites of his food. “I’m so fucking bored.”

 

“Apologies,” they said, without looking at the screen, “what do you need for entertainment?”

 

“I don’t know!” it was practically a whine, “everyone’s gone and there’s nothing to do! I want to go back to school. Never thought I’d say that.”

 

“It’s not wise to return until things calm down around devilmen,” Satan replied. That was something that they and Akira were working on in the appearances that Satan made. “Besides, I have a PhD. I’m more than qualified to give you an education.”

  
  


Now, things had calmed down enough that most schools had been reopened. While those delinquent rappers were either older or dropped out, perhaps both, they left during the day. The novelty of a luxury apartment with a pool seemed to have worn out.

 

“That’s not what I mean,” he groaned, “Miko is back in school and she’s a devilman!”

 

“But no one knows she is.”   
  
“And who’s fucking fault is that.”

 

Satan’s fingers on the keyboard stilled. What to say to that.

 

How about: nothing.

 

They resumed typing.

 

“I’m surprised school is letting you return after screening pornography in the A/V room.”

 

Akira tipped his head back with a laugh, “I didn’t get caught!”

 

“Hm,” and Satan smirked.

* * *

 

_ @ryoasuka _

_ The salt remaining from demon pillars has been found to be iodized for human consumption. The salt contains approximately 0.002-0.004% iodine. This discovery is good news for underdeveloped areas where iodine deficiency is common. (1/2)  _

* * *

 

_ @ryoasuka  _

_ Iodine deficiency can result in issues within the thyroid and is particularly dangerous for pregnant mothers. Cleanup of salt pillars is underway in many locations. (2/2) _

* * *

 

_ @madswag26 _

_ @ryoasuka hey meme guy this science stuff is boring af y rnt you posting anything funny :// _

 

* * *

  
  


Satan clicked quote tweet: “I hope sharing your sad tweet is humor enough to the rest of my followers,” they said aloud to Akira as they typed it.

 

Closing the lid of their laptop, they looked to Akira, “So, how can I entertain you. You have my undivided attention for…” they glanced at their phone, then smiled at Akira, feeling soft, “all day.”  _ No, always. But you cannot know that. _

 

Akira practically beamed at that, “Man! Awesome! Let’s...hm.” He fell flat, lost on ideas.

 

“...Something we did as children,” Satan offered, that smile still on their lips. When Ryo was Akira’s most important person. When the two were together always. Inseparable.

 

“Yeah!” Akira was so happy. Satan’s chest burned. He continued, “we could go to the beach, or cicada catching, or… oh.” He glanced to the wheelchair. “Right, you’re hurt.”

 

“What a joykiller I am,” Satan shrugged, “then, what would we do when it rained?”

  
_ Stand under an umbrella and try to protect an injured little thing. _

 

“Oh shit!” and Akira hopped up and scooped up Satan, “let’s play some games!” Satan was getting used to this treatment, Akira carrying them around. They enjoyed it. They could stay in Akira’s arms forever.

 

Satan hummed, and wrapped their arms around Akira’s neck, “That would also be beneficial to relieve some of your violent needs. We can’t have you becoming restless. Or becoming reckless. There are no demons to fight any more, or to fuck.”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

“I suppose you could spar with me, should you need,” they offered, “as I am very strong. Or perhaps other devilmen,” that was probably more alluring to Akira, no, they had to up the ante, “but I doubt any of them are on your level. Amon was one of the finest.”

 

“You’re hurt,” was all Akira said as he kicked open the door to his bedroom, where there was a large television setup. Surround sound, widescreen. Mainly used for porn. If there were any neighbors on this floor...

 

He set Satan down at the edge of his bed and snatched up the Playstation controllers, flopped down next to Satan. He handed one over. “Hey, for nostalgia’s sake, let’s play something we used to.” His happy grin, the laugh in his voice. It rang in Satan’s thoughts.

 

“Certainly,” Satan replied.  Maneuvering through screens to the store, the listing of old games loaded. They purchased the first familiar one to show on the screen and handed the controller to Akira.

 

“Oh, you wanna trade off? It’s one player.”

 

“No, no. I’ve always been content to watch you struggle with the puzzles in this game.”   
  


“Fuck off,” Akira muttered.

 

Satan chuckled.

 

The game started, cutscenes short as they were for the time. Akira played intently, groaning when he got stuck, Satan offering advice here and there.

 

After a little while, Akira stopped in the middle of a hall. He adjusted the camera all over, circling it around the player character.

 

“Did you forget the controls in the middle of playing?” Satan snarked.

 

“No,” then Akira was zooming in. With a clear direction. “Man, she’s so hot!” Focused right on her chest.

 

“...Akira, her breasts are polygons; they’re practically triangular,” and Satan was laughing, deep, it rumbled in their chest and numbed their head.

“Lara is an eternal beauty,” he barked, his face flushed red.

 

“It’s not as if you’re a blushing virgin, Akira, you’ve seen real breasts,” and Satan was still laughing, “I’m surprised you could settle for such a substitute.”

 

“Yeah?! And what about you?”

 

“What about me?”   
  


“You know! Stuff guys talk about. The virgin thing,” Akira said, and he had the hint of a laugh.

 

“My, isn’t that a question,” and Satan smirked at him. They had lived for millenia.

 

Akira narrowed his eyes.

 

Satan pulled out their phone, “You know, I will tweet something funny, after all.” They snapped a photo of the screen, the way it was zoomed in to some special polygons, and typed up a little something.

* * *

 

_ @ryoasuka _

_ Science has come a long way. _

 

* * *

 

They flashed the screen to Akira, and Akira laughed, and they laughed. And inside they felt an odd twinge. Good, let the world see their precious time with Akira.

 

The two played until well after sunset. While Satan knew the puzzles immediately, they would let Akira try to figure it out on his own. A speedrun would be no fun.

 

“Hey, Ryo,” Akira said as the title screen came back up after the credits rolled.

 

“Hm?”

 

“Let’s have a sleepover, like we used to.”

 

Warmth.

 

“I would like that.”

 

They laid back and spread their wings.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all im posting this a little early. largely because im not the biggest fan of this chapter, in honesty? it wasn't mean to happen but then did.
> 
> so i didn't want you to wait long to be disappointed. but here's a little soft break for y'all. the next chapter is a scene i've been wanting to write since i started this fic, so please hold on! :D
> 
> as for memeing: there's a little bit of inconsistency in the 'date' crybaby is supposed to be. Akira is described as being born in the 90s, then he's a teen, but the demon in the whitehouse is, well.......... (i miss when anime had a vague not-obama as president...) SO THATS WHY THEY ARE PLAYING SOME PS1 GAMES LOL. also, chapter working title: hhhh hhh big po lygon 
> 
> sorry im rambling lmao


	7. gangrene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains sexual content

While Akira’s new demon body did require a lot of rest, Satan’s angelic one never did. Not even in the human body of Ryo Asuka. It was something that Akira had always been concerned about, always pushing them to sleep more.

 

Now, injured, they could use the rest to heal. But still, they could hardly find it.

 

In that moment, however, they hardly minded.

 

Akira’s arms wrapped around them, pulling them close. His warmth. His face settled in the crook of their neck, even breathing dusting through their hair that, thankfully, the cut of translated well into their angelic form.

 

It was calming. Even his nocturnal erection pressing against their back brought them ease.

 

Satan drifted their fingers up and down Akira’s arm, feeling his skin, the heat of his body temperature. A soft smile upon their lips. They cupped their hand over Akira’s, brushed their fingertips over his. Feeling each fold of skin in his knuckles, letting that fall into their memory. The pattern, the rough. They touched where Akira’s hand met their uncovered skin, noting how he warmed their abdomen beneath. 

 

Perhaps it was inappropriate by human standards to rest bare with him. But to rest as Ryo, in so much pain? To rest with wings tucked away? They would not.

 

In their sleepy haze, it did not bother them that they did not understand why this feeling was what coursed through them. All they did was feel, feel.

 

_ “You are like Silene, letting desire cloud your sight.” _

 

Xenon’s voice suddenly rang through their head. When had he even said that? He was dead, a high-standing pillar, practically a mountain.

 

_ Psychogenie’s gaze at Satan when he said that, expression never-changing. She would never cross her master, but they could tell, she agreed.  _

 

What did that even mean? Desire? That was something they did not feel. Not even as Ryo Asuka through the tempestuous experience of pubescence. The physicality of it all, yes. A basic biological need. Never  _ desire _ .

 

Silene’s desire was one of lust, of obsession. Solely focused on Amon. Always at his side. Seeking his affections even once he was within Akira.  _ Their Akira. _

 

_ Theirs. _

 

_ No, no. _

 

But there had been a pang of-  _ envy -  _ watching Akira and she in the sky.

 

_ No. Ryo had encouraged him away. _

 

Silene’s desire for Amon.  _ Satan’s desire for Akira. _

 

_ No, no, no nono nono  _

 

They gasped, slapped a hand over their mouth, squinched their eyes shut. A cry through their lips, trying to escape through their fingers.

 

Heat, their heartbeat practically pounding through their entire body.  _ Arousal. Desire.  _ When had they last felt this?  Never this, how it made their body shake.

 

Carefully, they tried to remove Akira’s arms from around them. He groaned, tightened his hold. Panic.  _ I’m stronger than you,  _ they had told him, standing in that salt pan. They forced his arm off, climbed out of the bed, nearly tripped over themself.

 

Haste, haste to get away. 

 

They stumbled, slammed the door to Akira’s bathroom. Keeled over the sink counter.

 

Gasping, panting. Where was their breath? Their lungs needed to be filled. Contraction of the intercostal muscles.  Exchange within the alveoli.

 

This feeling had been within them, all along, hadn’t it. Remaining latent, for them to find. It wasn’t even Psychogenie’s seal; all of her power was broken when she died. This had been they themself.

 

As they had once told Akira, there was truly only one way to deal with this. 

 

They didn’t want to, but oh, they ached. It nearly hurt, this arousal. Hardly could they stand, clinging to the fine white marble. 

 

Hand shaking, they reached down.

 

A whine. Was that them? Of course it was; they were the only one here. They pressed their free hand over their mouth.

 

Fingers curled around themself, so sensitive from being long untouched in this body. The skin nearly hurt, felt raw from what was already overstimulation, from the desire that had their cock curved toward  their stomach untouched. But at the same time, it was a relief from that ache that pulsed through them. 

 

Slow strokes. They needed to go slow.

 

Focus on the machinations. The strict physicality of masturbation. But then, of course, Akira came into their thoughts. 

 

Akira, with his sweet smile and soft heart. That had never changed, never in the years the two had known each other. Their chest ached. Akira with his strong legs and chest and stomach likely powerful enough to take Satan on--

 

With his muscled arms wrapped around their body as he slept, holding them close and possessive to him like a precious thing. Hips pressed against their back, thick, hard--

 

A dampness on their thighs that detracted their thoughts.

 

Akira would want…

 

They uncurled their fingers from their cock, guided their hand past it. A part of their body easy to forget, when it was gone in the time they had spent as Ryo. Hot, wet.

 

Slipping fingers in, they whined into their arm once more.

 

Akira’s interests were obvious, even without how Ryo monitored his search history. Without how he would attempt to be sneaky borrowing Satan’s laptop. The poor thing didn’t know about private browsing.

 

Breasts and penetration. Always the focus of his searches. 

 

Oh, Akira- they had everything he needed, anything he could want. Satan was male and female and everything possible in between, even if Ryo Asuka had been a male identity. But now they knew who they were once more.

 

Amon would guide him to be rough. Satan’s fingers moved in such a pattern. But their tender Akira would be soft with his words, whimpering Ryo’s name, apologizing for how his body moved while Satan begged him to take them as he wished--

 

Their fingers were too thin and delicate to be a stand-in for Akira, but still their body trembled and they tightened around their fingers as they were wracked with a release. A whine into their palm.

 

An amount of awareness returned to them, and their cock was still leaking onto their stomach.

 

A foolish oversight caught up in their passions. The fibromuscular system of the vagina could continue with sexual contact for extended periods of time, past the thresholds of orgasm even for more.  _ Akira would give them that,  _ an intrusive thought sent heat through them again.

 

No, they needed this arousal gone. They could not linger on fantasies, even if they knew Akira felt lust for their body. Ejaculative orgasm would rid them of it.

 

They wrapped their hand around their cock once more, perhaps too tight in their frustration. Preseminate and their own lubrication remaining on their hand gave an even slide.

 

Rough, the sound of skin.

 

Rough, as Akira would do it. Unless he were caught up in the saccharine sweetness of himself. That sweetness that he showed to Ryo.

 

The sweetness that hadn’t truly been seen since Satan’s emergence.

 

_ Fucking me isn’t going to make me forgive you. _

 

There would no longer be an ulterior for it, Akira. Oh, how Satan wanted him. But, would that sweetness return, with his forgiveness? They wanted that, too. They would offer their body, their physical, beating, heart, torn from their chest and set in his hands.

 

Let him wrap his hands around their throat and take away the rest of their oxygen with a kiss and offer forgiveness as their heartbeat ceased.

 

What was this feeling?

  
Their chest was tight. Painfully so. It ached, more than their body had with this arousal that was ruining them. Their heartbeat heavy. As if they could enter cardiac arrest, pains sharp and pulsing throughout the ache that hung there.

 

It was not jealousy. It was not arousal.

 

Both feelings...those had both arisen upon seeing Akira with Silene. That, now, they could recognize.

 

What Akira had said, after. Silene and Amon, Kaim and Silene.

 

_ Do you think demons can love? _

 

_ Love _

_ love _

 

_ L  _

 

_ V _

 

Revelation called that in the end, stars will fall and the powers of heaven be shaken.

 

The morning star fell once more, and all power drained from their body.

 

They came, sobbing, and fell to their knees.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

 

_ akira _

 

__

_ Angels, demons _

* * *

 

_ falling _

 

* * *

 

_ Tongues, their language, but thoughts can't form _

 

* * *

  
  


_ akiraakirakiraakiraakira _

 

* * *

 

_ You’re crying Ryo _

 

* * *

 

_ Rains, life. _

 

_ Death. MERCY. _

* * *

  
  


_ L _

_ O  _

 

_ V _

_ e _

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fog was their mind as they gathered themself from the cool bathroom tile. Should have installed heated ones.

 

Shaking legs, holding the marble counter once more. Faucet turned, the sink’s hot water on. Let it run. Watched it as it poured, filled the sink. Overflowed.

 

Their face in the mirror. Red, patchy. Against the beauty of what an angel was supposed to seem.

 

Wings, still seared. A mockery. How Akira tried to heal their sad little human body.

 

Trembling fingers touched the edges of feathers.

 

Salt.

 

Salt falling from their wings.

 

Eyes widening.

 

A bark of laughter.

 

It wasn’t imagination. The wounds were worsening.

 

Gangrenous.

 

Smite turning them slowly to salt.

 

Akira’s forgiveness.

 

_ his l ov e _

 

would they get to have it

  
  



	8. worth

“Now, to speak on her experiences, is Kawamoto Mikiko.”

 

The poor girl was shaking. Akira stood behind her and gave a pat on the shoulder as she took the seat next to Satan.

 

They held their fake little media smile.

 

A damned political conference. The mundanities of human civilization were grating on them. If Jenny were there to give  _ helpful suggestions  _ to people in power, this would all be over and done with.

 

But no, they had to go on about their _ ‘ _ research’ _.  _ Things that they knew to begin with. Dumbed down for human consumption.

 

“Uh...hi,” the Kawamoto girl began to speak. The room chattered a little until Satan gave them a look. “I’m…”

 

“I was told that...I could be helped, with this body. Go back to normal. So I went with them. But they...didn’t help.”

 

Satan nodded, gave encouraging hums as she went on with her story. Torture, experiments. Likely run by the government, likely that would have been encouraged by the people.

 

The room was quiet.

 

Kawamoto was tearing up. Akira was crying. Of course.

 

“Then one day, suddenly, Fudo broke into the lab and found us all. He told me I wasn’t a demon, that the demons were gone. No, I still have a human heart,” and then she was crying, too.

 

“Akira,” Satan turned their head and whispered. Akira nodded, and helped the girl up.

 

“Thank you for speaking, Kawamoto,” they said to her as Akira took her away.

 

“Now, her story cannot be unique…” and Satan continued, on and on. Human rights, Devilman rights, one and the same. All of that. Until finally, someone else came to take the stage and let them wheel away.

 

Thank fuck.

 

They could leave now. Niceties be damned. There would probably be a banquet or some shit for political ass-patting at the conclusion of the conference. Akira might like to go for the food, but he would just as gladly inhale whatever unholy fast food pile 500 yen could get him.

 

Even if Satan was trying to keep him on a balanced diet.

 

Besides, at the banquet neither of them would be allowed to touch the alcohol. What good was millennia and a stuffy conference of suffering if you couldn’t have your complimentary glass of champagne?

 

The halls of the government building were fairly empty, most people in the conference room or having been chauffeured out. A few security personnel, and then sticking out more:

 

“Akira!”

 

“Ryo!”

 

The way his smile grew, how his posture opened up whenever he saw them.

 

It put a smile on their face in turn, put that sickening sweet pang in their chest.

 

The one they had taken so long to identify. But now it was there. Known.

 

Sweet, but painful.   
  
“Are you ready to go?” Satan asked, as Akira went in for a hug, as if they’d been separated for as long as they once had been.  _ Never again. Never let him go again. Never out of their sight. Never until Satan died and then Akira would no longer be theirs.  _

 

“Yeah, Mikiko left for the place you set her up at,” he replied. So caring. It was to be expected, with him, but also as the solidarity of another devilman. The girl so at odds with herself. And Akira himself had been the one to save her, once Satan had found the facility in which she had been captive.

 

Professor Ryo Asuka had promised her that he would find a way to return her original body, the girl unable to shift between devil and human forms as Akira, Kuroda, other devilmen could. Something else for Satan to figure out in their remaining time.

 

Akira walked around Satan and set his hands on the wheelchair, to take them away, as if they couldn’t wheel themself. But Satan would cherish it, Akira’s attention on them in any way, they as his only focus. 

 

“Let’s check out the train, like you said!” Akira said, and Satan tried to recall because they were now inwardly groaning-  _ public transportation, people surrounding them -  _ and oh. They had fucking said that.  _ “I’d like to see the progress of the rail system’s rebuilding,”  _ and they’d said it offhandedly to show off to Akira that they were doing things to make things better like Akira wanted, look Akira, look. 

 

“That sounds fine,” they lied through their teeth. Akira, with his blinding optimism, clearly did not catch it. But Akira was smiling and Satan would do everything to protect that smile.

 

He wheeled them out to the street, walked in the direction of the nearest station. Casual chatting, nothing. But his voice set Satan’s mind at ease and it was as if they were drifting--

 

Until gunshots crudely interrupted that.

 

And Akira was speeding off into an alley, leaving them sitting alone.

 

“Akira!”

 

Devilman or not, Akira could still take bullets. And he wasn’t some sort of a vigilante- human affairs weren’t something that the two were supposed to dabble with. Before, if anyone even saw Akira’s devil form, they would have to die.  _ Before you ruined everything. He hates you, don’t you know that? Fool. Fool. Fool. _

 

Satan wheeled themself down the alley, as fast as they could. Their coat could still conceal a plethora of guns, just as it had before. Yes, they’d been in a government building armed to the teeth. But when had they ever cared about laws?

 

Automatic gun in hand, they stopped abruptly when they saw Akira alone and looking around confused. It clicked immediately for them.

 

“Fuck,” Satan said, “Akira, we have to go, it’s a trap--”

 

“Wh--”

 

And a voice from the front of the alley cut Akira off, “You fucking bastards!”   
  
Satan turned, Akira running up behind them in a protective manner.   
  
Ah, that Koda boy. A simple pistol aimed at Satan.

 

“Akira, you were supposed to kill him,” Satan said, voice flat. They had known he didn’t do it. But they needed point it out.

 

Akira’s knuckles went white on the edges of their wheelchair.

 

Satan lifted their machine gun to his level.

“Fudo, you’re a demon like me, but your friend fucking isn’t,” Koda said, “and you two ruined everything for me.”

 

“Ryo, don’t shoot him,” Akira said, and those tears of his were falling, “we hurt him.”

 

“And what, let him shoot me?”

 

“No, we just, just gotta talk--”

 

“He’s threatening us, and you want to let him go. Again.”   
  
“We can forgive him for this, can’t we--”

 

“No, Akira.”

 

A shell shot at Satan’s feet, and they finally turned their attention back to Koda. The boy irritated that he wasn’t being taken seriously. He wasn’t truly a threat, not to an archangel and a devilman far stronger than his pathetic form.

 

“What?” Satan asked him, deadpan.

 

“You bastard,” Koda said again, gun steady in his hand. Why a gun, when he had the ability to shift and simply attempt to gore them? To show Ryo’s weakness as a human, likely. To pry at what he figured was Akira’s weak point. 

 

“Should you shoot me, Akira would kill you in one shot,” Satan said, tone so bored.

 

“Ryo! Stop!”

 

Koda didn’t respond to Satan’s threat, “I’m gonna kill you. You deserve it.”   
  
“Oh, I know I do.”

 

Akira’s tears fell onto the back of their neck, seemingly harsher, hissing out Ryo’s name under his breath again.

 

Satan just continued: “But under what false consciousness do you believe that you do not?”

 

“Ryo, don’t--”

 

“Oh, Akira. Let’s count what he’s done, without my influence.”

 

Koda: “The fuck do you know about me?”

“He killed his beloved,” and Satan raised a hand, put up a finger, “then, oh, this is a good one. Brought a man to bed, made sweet, sweet love to him, then in their rosy afterglow tore him apart  _ and ate him.” _

 

Koda’s hand shook on the gun.

 

“Did you think I didn’t know these things?” Satan smirked, two fingers held. Now that their true memories had returned, reports from demons, those lurked in their memories.

 

“You-- you--”

 

“Third strike: oh, your greatest sin. I do not believe in forgiveness, Koda Moyuru,” they had never been given it, why would they ever,  _ but they needed Akira’s, _ “But this, hm.”

 

They put up their third finger, “You betrayed my Akira.”

 

Koda was silent. 

 

“After all he did for you. Akira, why would you try to offer him an apology, offer him forgiveness for his transgressions?”

 

Akira was silent.

 

“I’ll be angry for you, then.”

 

They opened their three fingers to five, held their palm out toward Koda.

 

“Yo, wait, what the fuck-- The fuck is with his eyes-- Where’s his pupils--"   
  


White light, and Koda Moyuru was but a pillar of salt.

 

_ And the faint sound of salt crystals falling to the ground behind their back. _

 

“Ryo, you…”   
  


“He is dead, Akira.”

 

“He could’ve changed--”

 

“Did you not hear what he did? I spoke clearly, and I know that you know of his third trespass.”

 

“Ryo.”

 

“Some people don’t deserve even your forgiveness, Akira.”

 

They watched his face, and Akira’s expression stilled, he spoke no words. Those tears of his stopped. Ah, yes. He wouldn’t cry for Satan, now. Not now that he knew everything about them. Ryo Asuka was worth his cares. But not Satan.

 

And Satan felt fat tears roll down their cheeks.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt even expect this chapter to hit me so hard


	9. aurum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains explicit content.

It was possible that the cityscape could be considered beautiful. The dance of lights that was cars and windows and street lamps. But it was cacophonous, unnatural. A mockery of the stars.

 

But for a few scarce days during the apocalypse, the Milky Way could be seen from Tokyo.

 

Satan gazed out the high windows that made up a wall of their dwelling. For someone else, it would have been prized. But the creations of man, Satan could still only view as ugly, destroying and destroying.

 

Maybe they could see the real stars again, with Akira.

 

The focus of their eyes shifted. Away from the sight out of the window, to their own translucent reflection in the glass.

 

Their natural body. Bare, without the armor their siblings wore, cast down in nudity for shame. But what shame was there? Angels, supposed to be the pinnacle of beauty. Why hide that away?

 

_ Beauty.  _ Burnt wings hanging from their body. Those were not beautiful. A horrible disfigurement.

 

The ones on their ankles would be the first to fully disintegrate, to begin the degradation of their body. First the Smite had taken their flight, then it would take their legs. The Statue of David’s ankles were deteriorating, the point that bore all of his weight, any shift in position send the giant-killer down to shatter into pieces. Soon, that would be them.

 

But the Smite’s punishment was ill-thought out, if the point was to make them suffer slowly.

 

The wings connected to a muscular system attached to the occipitalis. The back of their head. Their second-shortest wings.

 

Death would come quickly when their skull eroded.

 

Tentatively, they brought a hand to the base of their scalp, where feathers met hair. The muscles there tensed involuntarily, such a sensitive spot.

 

_ “Some people are missing muscles,”  _ a young Ryo had told Akira. An attempt to scare him?  _ “There’s a muscle in the hip that 73% of people do not have.” _

 

_ “Ahh! Ryo!”  _ and Akira had seemed genuinely distressed, “ _ How do I know if I’m missing it?” _

 

Ryo had shrugged and smirked, “ _ We just don’t. Here, do this.”  _ He’d tilted his wrist, touched fingers together, and Akira mimicked him.

 

“ _ Look,”  _ and he’d tapped Akira’s wrist, “ _ you have a muscle I don’t.” _

 

Akira had cried because of his missing muscle. Oh, young Akira, now Satan had a whole structure of muscle to make up for it, the structure to support their wings. Ha.

 

The sound of the door opening behind them. What did they say?  _ Speak of the Devil. _

 

“Akira.”

 

“I’m home.”

 

“Welcome home.”

 

“...R-Ryo! Don’t stand in front of the window naked! Someone might see!”

 

“We’re more than a dozen stories up, Akira. You’re the only peeping tom I have to worry about.”

 

“Geez…” Akira walked over to them, his eyes averted, “I brought you a juice.”

 

“Considerate,” Satan said, and a smile pulled on their lips. They found themself feeling nostalgic more and more every day. A result of dying, perhaps?

 

Akira’s gaze had been settled vaguely past them, almost out of the window. It hurt, that he did not like their true form. So much that Satan had begun to hide it away after that night they had realized so many things.

 

But then his eyes moved toward them, curiosity widening them. “You have so many wings.”

 

“Did it take you so long to realize?” and Satan chuckled.

 

“No, I just… didn’t really pay attention, I guess. It was weird. I’m supposed to be the one with wings.”

 

“Sorry to say, Akira, but I had them first.”

 

Akira laughed a little, then. 

 

“Akira,” Satan spoke his name, and it always felt pleasant on their tongue, and they felt themself growing shy, their cheeks warming, pathetic, “would you like to see them?”

 

“...Yeah,” and Akira stepped closer, so close to their body, and brought his hands to the ones behind their head. His fingers carded through the feathers, and Satan almost felt as if they could ruffle them, coo and nuzzle into him. But they could not.

“They’re so different from mine,” he said, “and soft,” and then smoothed his hands over the structure of their largest wings. Satan spread them, let him touch. “And pretty.”

 

“You think they’re pretty,” they said in a voice that came out deadpan.

 

“Nah. Beautiful.”

 

Satan’s chest burned.

 

Then Akira pulled his hand away, and they ached at the loss of his attention. He looked at his palm. “What’s that?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“It’s...coarse.”

 

“Ah. That’s salt.”

 

“Salt?” Akira asked.

 

“Like the demons.”

 

“What?” Akira’s brows furrowed, and his hands were on Satan’s wings again, fingers in the feathers, a little rough  _ and Satan cursed how they liked that _ and salt fell from between their feathers. “Why?!”

 

“The Smite, Akira.”

 

Satan had wondered how long it would take Akira to notice. He’d insisted that Ryo Asuka go to the hospital, those burns not getting any better. He did not seem to realize they were getting worse. Satan had refused, citing logic, and instead selfishly let Akira dress those wounds every day.

 

It made sense that Akira would not notice the deterioration of their true form with how he avoided looking at it.

 

His eyes widened, and he looked at them in the eye. “Are you not healing? I thought your wounds in your-- real body-- those had scarred over. Ryo!”

 

“This is my real body, Akira,” Satan sighed.

 

“Don’t deflect. You said...they were a reflection of this form. Right?”   
  


“Yes, they are,” and their mouth grew dry.

 

“So your wings aren’t getting better.”

 

“No.”

 

“Why do they still have salt on them? Haven’t you taken a shower?”

 

Satan had to laugh at that.

 

“Ryo!”

 

Their laughter cut short. “...the Smite affected me differently. I’m no demon, Akira. But it was all a punishment for me.”

 

Akira stared at them to continue.

  
“It’s eating away at me. In short: I am slowly turning into salt.”

 

“What the fuck, Ryo?”

 

Those tears of Akira’s. Characteristic of him. His beautiful heart. Satan’s chest did not ache, instead filling with warmth. They stepped forward and wrapped their arms around him.

 

“Akira-”   
  


“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” Akira’s fist pounded on their chest. Then hung there, as if he would hold onto their shirt were they wearing one.

 

“...If you were dying, would you tell me, Akira?”

 

“YOU WOULD BE THE FIRST TO KNOW!” and those tears came harder.

 

“Shh,” and Satan pulled him closer.

 

“No, don’t fucking hush me. Let me go,” and Akira pushed them away.

 

Where they had held Akira, they now held themself. Arms crossed tight over their body. Rejection. Pain. Pain.

 

“Fuck,” Akira ran his hands through his hair. “Dying, Ryo. Dying!”

 

“All things die, Akira. It’s not a tragedy.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ryo, stop trying to placate me.”

 

Satan was silent.

 

Akira paced, footfalls heavy. “I wish--” his voice was coming out between a hiss and a growl, “I wish I could just fucking fight something,” and if to make a point, tore off a piece of the couch and threw it to the ground. “And then everything’s better and we move on to the next thing. But this…”   
  


Those tear-filled eyes, back up at Satan, “What do we do?”

 

“Nothing.”   
  


“No!” and Akira was back to them, gave their shoulders a shove. “What’s happening to you!”

 

“It’s a rot, like gangrene,” Satan straightened up, huffed, “Divine rot.”

 

Akira had his hands on their shoulders, and his fingers dug in, “What do doctors do for gangrene?”

 

“What? Amputate the limb, of course,” Satan said.

 

Akira was staring them in the eyes. Those tears slowing.

 

“So there is something we can do.”

 

“Oh,” and Satan laughed, “Akira, how you see simple solutions I can’t.” They laughed. And laughed. And they nearly doubled over, instead leaning into Akira. Their stomach hurt.

 

Akira held them again and they felt so warm.

 

“I won’t fly again, anyway, with these broken wings,” they settled their head into the crook of Akira’s neck. “What does a banished angel need these things for? A sense of pride? I don’t need that.”

 

Akira’s head tilted, his cheek rested against Satan’s. “I’ll take you into the sky whenever you wish.”

 

“Akira…”

 

The two stood there like that for a while, only breathing. Breathing in each other. Body heat collecting between the two of them. Skin touching.

 

Akira turned his head, blinked, wet eyelashes brushing against Satan’s cheek. Satan threaded fingers into his hair. This moment, this moment.

 

“Will you do it for me?” Satan whispered.

 

Akira nodded, not letting go. Saltwater smearing onto Satan’s face.

 

“I may very well die,” they continued in that soft voice, “I may bleed out.”

 

Akira only nodded again.

 

“I would rather it be you,” they felt fondness well up in their throat, “than Heaven to kill me.”

 

“I’ll treat you gently,” Akira said, and Satan trusted those words to be true.

 

They pulled away from him, despite how loathe they were to leave his arms. “Let’s get this over with, Akira.”

 

“...You sure? You don’t need to...get ready, or anything?”

  
“I won’t psyche myself up, and you shouldn’t either, Akira,” they stepped past him, took his hand to guide him to follow, “just know, should you kill me, I will still be happy.” Akira would never forgive himself. Satan could only try to placate that now. It was something likely to happen. They had twelve wings. Humans could go into shock from only losing a single limb.

 

Akira’s hand was shaking. Satan brushed his cheek, “I know, this is likely overwhelming.”

 

“Yeah,” Akira swallowed, “Let’s get it over with.”

 

Satan nodded and lowered themself to an empty spanse of floor, laid on their stomach. Akira registered how this would happen, and settled himself on top of them, straddled over their hips. Akira settled a hand and felt around  the muscles at the base of a wing. Some grotesque parody of a massage.

 

The sexuality of the position was not lost on Satan, and they shut their eyes to try to stave off any arousal. It would be gone once the pain began, at least.

 

But then Akira gave a wing a light tug and Satan all but moaned into the floor. A pleasant pressure.

 

“It hurt that bad already?” Akira’s voice was laced with concern.

 

“Don’t worry, Akira,” Satan mumbled, “it’s likely I will black out.”

“That’s not encouraging--”   
  


“Tear them off, Akira.”

 

A snotty sniffle and their own scream. Akira’s tears falling on their back. Ligaments and fibers pulled with the grain, stretched until they snapped.

 

Hemocyanin, the primary component of the blood of certain arthropods such as the Japanese Horseshoe Crab, is a bright blue color. The elements of the blood are bonded to the metal copper,  _ cuprum: kupros, the name coming from an island with abundant stores of the metal.  _ Once oxygenated through the respiratory system, the copper becomes a bright blue.

 

Bones cracking, breaking into pieces under strong hands.

 

A beach, young Akira running in the waves, Ryo walking alongside on the dry ground, under his parasol. Dozens of horseshoe crabs washed up, flipped on their backs. Akira seeing this, getting upset.

 

“ _ I’m getting them back in the water,”  _ he cried, picking them up one by one to put back in the water.

 

“ _ It’s pointless, Akira. It’s most likely they can’t feel pain, anyway.” _

 

_ “Ryo, help me.” _

 

Ryo didn’t refuse. He kicked them back into the water.

 

Feathers falling onto the floor, salt crystals tinkling as they too fell.

 

Hemoglobin, the primary component of human blood. What Akira bled, what Ryo Asuka bled. Made up of iron,  _ ferrum.  _ A bright red color.

 

A young Akira putting a bandaid on Ryo’s scraped knee. Akira poring over him, despite Ryo not cringing except for when he sprayed the antiseptic.

 

Sulfur,  _ sulphur: fire and brimstone.  _ A nonmetal, unlike copper and iron, but the primary component of demon blood. The name a distant memory of humans’, before demons froze away. The putrid scent of hell, the putrid scent of demon’s blood. A bright yellow color, a poison that Akira once bathed in.

 

_ “It smells awful,”  _ Akira had said, but still, his mouth watered.

 

_ “Shower and you’ll be fine. The scent will soon be gone from where we fought.” _

Akira’s breath heavy behind them. Tears falling, falling. Then something warmer-- ah, saliva. He was salivating. The scent of blood, the act of violence, was getting to him, to his demon instincts. He was fighting back so well.

 

Satan wanted to praise him, but their voice caught in their throat and came out as another scream.

 

Vision black on the edges.

 

Aurum: gold. The most precious of all metals. Coveted for its luster, for its worth.  _ Etymology: to dawn.  _ Fitting for the morning star.

 

_ The makeup of angels. _

 

A pool of gold beneath them. Their blood, shimmering. Beautiful.

 

They collapsed into it each time they were lifted by a wing in Akira’s hands, falling when it tore, when the appendage hung by threads.

 

Black. Unconsciousness.

 

Then, soft hands. In their hair, on their face. Their breaths shallow. 

 

They opened their eyes. Eyes faced downward, sight trained on their stomach. Covered in blood and cum.

 

Gaze lifting. Akira’s face. He was smiling, soft, weak. His arms around them. He had them in his lap, cradled. Gentle, gentle.

 

A hand in Satan’s hair.

 

Pulled closer to Akira, directly to his chest.

 

They looked up.

 

Akira looked down.

 

Akira’s lips on theirs.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter i've wanted to write most since i started this fic! i hope u enjoyed the read as much as i enjoyed the write...please let me know how u feel
> 
> UPDATE: i commissioned art from @wooperlaguz on twitter of this scene, look how gorgeous im DYING https://imgur.com/fpqsQm1


	10. revelations

Exsanguination: the loss of blood of an amount enough to cause death; bleeding to death; bleeding out. Most often caused by unintentional injury, but also used as a means of murder or execution. A frequent form of livestock slaughter.

 

The victim will enter hypovolemic shock. The body grows pale, clammy, and in later stages of blood loss will sweat profusely. Breathing rate increases greatly in an attempt to oxygenate blood that is not there. Mental state begins to slip.  
  
At the third stage of blood loss, many victims will experience a sort of bliss. The mental state enters an altered state that varies from person to person. Some may find it similar to the effects of recreational drugs.

 

While in the fourth stage of blood loss death was almost certain without medical attention, it was also possible to die at the third stage. But where the fuck would one find a medical transfusion for angel blood?

 

The third stage, that was where Satan found themself when they woke in Akira’s arms.

 

Lips on theirs.

 

It was all they could want.

 

A smile on their mouth, a weak attempt to loop their arms around his neck. Akira moving their arms away, some words that Satan couldn’t piece together spoken. They could only gather the softness of his voice. His arms on them, gathering them up, and their body falling limp in his hold.

 

Him dressing their wounds as he did so many times, rough hands so gentle. The fourth stage of hypovolemia was when most would die, should they enter it. Past there, death was certain.

 

Then, the forgotten juice held to their lips. They let out a laugh, spit juice on themself. On Akira. He wiped it off with an alcohol swab. Scolded them to drink it. But it was funny. Juice.

 

Akira’s bed. Like that night that everything had crumbled for Satan, that night that had ruined them just as much as the Smite had. Soft sheets, warm blankets.

 

The scent of the room was something they hadn’t focused on before. They squirmed, put their face in a pillow. Akira. The smell of sweat and cum shouldn’t be appealing, the scent of Akira’s room from yet-to-be-tended laundry. They pulled blankets over themself, whined.

 

Their name spoken, Akira’s voice.

 

They lifted their head, smiled at him.

 

Akira with his beautiful, beautiful tears. Holding them still so that they would not move and make their wounds worse. Then he, too, was climbing into the bed. Wrapped his arms around them, pulled them close. Immobilizing them.

 

A nod was all they managed. Then rest was upon them. It was not of their concern whether they would wake. Akira had kissed them. Akira would have been who killed them. That was all they could want.

 

the baton falls. the clatter of plastic on the dirt track in a park.

they were so small. So small. So small.

now do they know?

do they understand?

they dream.

and pick it from the ground.

  
  
  
  


There aren’t words when their eyes open. Only Akira’s own eyes widening, watering. His arms pulling them in, a hug too tight for someone wounded, but a strong hug only expected from someone as strong as their Akira.

 

Their wounds had healed plenty in the night, they could feel it. Their body was no longer inhibited by the Smite. It was nowhere near the rate of Akira’s healing, with his arm reattaching in a night after his fight with Silene. But their wounds were more dire that that. Twelve limbs gone.

 

They stood, stumbled. Akira was there in a moment, steadying them. Of course, of course their ankles had to be fucked up in this form now, too. They choked a laugh.

 

The bones around the ankles were delicate. They couldn’t expect Akira to be delicate enough to keep them safe. Especially not when their poor devilman was likely fighting against Amon’s bloodlust. Their blood probably smelled sweet, a delicacy to him.

 

Akira lifted them to stand straight, helped them balance. He leaned in, and Satan looked up at him.

 

The first words were spoken, out of Akira’s lips: “Is this okay?”

 

“It’s all I’ve wanted.”

 

A kiss. The clearest memory they had of that night.

 

They didn’t know what this was. Humans were fickle things. This could mean nothing, but it could also mean everything. It could be only an apology, a heartless thing to make them _feel better._ Or it could be Akira expressing what Satan themself was trying to convey through the touch.

 

He helped them limp to the living room, where gold stained white carpets. Where their dismembered wings lay on the ground, nearly disintegrated.

 

It was nearly humorous.

 

They sat and ate Akira’s burnt omurice.

 

…

 

Perhaps, this was what forgiveness was.

 

That sea rock, where Akira had brought them when they had first fallen from Smite. The cold water of the Pacific spilt across its surface. Tiny pools of algae growth.

 

Perhaps, forgiveness wasn’t words. Words were cheap, could be dressed up and down with lies. Angels, humans, both had that illness of tongue.

 

It wasn’t Akira’s words they needed.

 

Perhaps forgiveness was how they laid on that rock, a chill even on Akira’s heated skin. How it warmed Satan as they curled around him, skin on skin. Kiss-bitten lips, a literal rosy afterglow. A sort of second christening of this place where things had changed for Satan completely.

 

Maybe it was standing in that salt pan again, watching their reflections that seemed as if they were in the sky. Seeing Xenon’s form as it slowly hardened into a new land mass, a strange mountain.

 

Akira, as much as he hated it, seemingly accepting that Satan had few regrets for what they had done. Accepting that, for Satan, a guilt would undermine everything that they had fought for, their whole reason for standing there with him. Their whole purpose, their whole reason for Falling.

 

This beautiful Earth, its right for life to live. Satan saw.

 

Perhaps it was the sky itself, Akira holding them where they no longer had wings to take them. The moon, the stars that could be seen without the pollution lingering beneath the clouds.

 

Or Akira’s lips on their back, at each scar where their wings had been plucked. The tears that traced those scars like raindrops on glass. How Satan would tell him not to cry, for it was the only thing that had let them live.

 

How Akira would hold them steady when they walked without cane, those damaged ankles not mending with the missing bones of the wings that had once spread from there.

 

Perhaps it was the more domestic things: things ridiculous for angel and demon to do.

 

Burnt omelettes and convenience store food, coffee tables and being tossed into a pool.

 

How Akira would sometimes try to sneak his hands under Satan’s puffy white coats, claiming to have cold hands and then copping a feel. His nervous laugh when Satan pointed out that he had a raised body temperature. Then, tangled limbs and tired, fallen lids feathering eyelashes against one another.

 

The name Ryo still spoken by Akira, every time. Despite knowing who they truly were, despite how they now walked in their true form now that they had no wings to hide. That name of his childhood friend, who he had always cared for. That he saw them still as that person, after everything.

 

It seemed, now, Satan saw themself as that person. Akira, they had always cared for him.

 

Forgiveness.

 

Perhaps it was how Akira reacted to their shy love confession, like the teenagers they had been.

 

Forgiveness: it was certain, set in stone, when they heard Akira’s voice.

 

Words of love from Akira’s own lips.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we made it! thank you everyone for coming along with me on this journey, please let me know your feelings :')
> 
> i had such a great time writing this, i hope you all enjoyed reading this as i did writing it.


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